


Startrack Sunsinging Stuff-lore Strong-seizings-upon

by Oak (theleaveswant)



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Asgard, Books, F/M, Humor, Motherhood, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Presents, Sneaky Frigga, Strange Packages, maternal approval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/Oak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the tape finally succumbed, there was a book, another book, an eight by five photo, a tiny jar of what looked like applesauce, and a letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Startrack Sunsinging Stuff-lore Strong-seizings-upon

**Author's Note:**

> I (theleaveswant) did not write this, but am posting it on behalf of a friend (Oak) who prefers not to create his own AO3 account at this time (and who honestly did not plan to share his written explorations of the Marvel Cinematic Universe at all, but then I squeed a lot).
> 
> All comments and questions will be passed on to Oak for consideration. Oak doesn't want to be identified as a fan writer under his legal name, so if you happen to recognize his style from other, original fiction or non-fiction writing, please do not mention his name when you shout that out.

It had been really, really hard to cut the tape. The apparently plain cardboard box was worse; you could, slowly, get through the tape with a diamond abrasive wheel in a Dremel, but the apparent cardboard sneered at it. The sound from the utility knife had been worse than fingernails on a blackboard, worse than cat claws on glass, worse than that first blip of feeback from the auditorium PA, where you had to tense up and wait to see if it was going to smash you with the full screaming volume.

Jane wasn't sure what she was doing. The package was addressed to her, in spikey hand printing in an amazing shade of blue ink. An amazing blue wasn't a good reason to be so stubborn with a weird package, not really, especially when the postmark looked kinda odd, but...

She was curious.

When the tape finally succumbed, there was a book, another book, an eight by five photo, a tiny jar of what looked like applesauce, and a letter.

The photo was Thor, looking about fourteen, grinning and joyful and feeding a carrot to a horse with eight legs.

Jane sat down.

The spine of the first book said, when she squinted and the golden letters swam into shapes she could read, something like "Startrack Sunsinging Stuff-lore Strong-seizings-upon". The first page went, with complete visual realism and a terrifying sense of infinite space, through the Big Bang inflation, complete with ghostly music from the first 300,000 years of dense plasma.

Jane shut the cover, and took a deep breath. Still on the couch.

The second book said, without any squinting at all, "Asgard for Earthlings". Jane didn't open that one; she set it down on top of the first one, and took three or four more deep breaths.

Thor might send her a letter; he might send her a letter on something that felt more like leather than paper. There was no way in Earth or Asgard he would send her a letter that smelled like honey and ... flowers, definitely flowers, but not any flower Jane had ever smelled before.

Jane thought "Oh my god", and then some relentlessly accurate part of her brain said "goddess" and she had to take five minutes to fight down the bad giggles.

>   
> 
> 
> Dr. Foster—

> Unless Earth is entirely unlike anyplace I have ever been, and even more  
>  unlike Asgard, it is not easy to contemplate 'meeting his mother'. I must  
>  imagine that when so much cannot help but be strange to you, fraught with the  
>  seeming of impossibilites, this difficulty is not made less.

> Nor, perhaps, when the mother presumes that such a meeting is a thing you  
>  desire; I hope it may be. There are goddesses of Asgard nearly without number  
>  very little inclined to praise your name, but I see my son moved out of glory  
>  in tumult to an unhabitual thoughtfulness and sudden flashes of tenderness and  
>  longing, and cannot but think most entirely well of you. There is a wise heart  
>  in there (else we should never dare to have given him the hammer), along with  
>  the wits he is not always troubled to use. You have caught his attention, and  
>  held it, and hold it now, at great remove. I have no way to tell you what a  
>  mighty deed this is, though I ask you not to doubt me either that you have done  
>  it, nor that I must then think you mighty indeed in the spirit that is in you.

> So I may be a mother, and think altogether well of you, and hope that you  
>  shall one day come to grace our halls with your presence.

> Asgard is an old place, and a thing of wonder, and I do not believe we see  
>  ourselves always as others might, but the book may do some good for all that.  
>  The other is a book Thor never much liked in his school days, but (from what I  
>  understand; your professional merits are not what he chiefly speaks of!)  
>  perhaps it will do another sort of good.

> Traveling is always a thing of doubt about the food; what I have sent you  
>  travels well, and is, I hope, somewhat familiar, though I do not believe Earth  
>  has any apples quite like these. Perhaps it shall serve to reassure in some  
>  small degree that you should not find yourself forced to subsist on strange  
>  beasts you must both kill and roast yourself.  
> 

_How can something **smell** like hope?_

The jar had opened with the usual pop sound, easily. _And may there be no jars in Asgard that Thor alone may open!_ Jane had thought, half-surprised at how normal a jar it was.

>   
> 
> 
> Please, whatever generosity of spirit might otherwise move you, do not  
> share it; I can be certain that you will find it wholesome, for the hammer  
> found you interesting, but I cannot be sure that this is true of any other on  
> Earth, and would not have my gift bring some tragedy of allergies to one dear  
> to you.

>  

> —Frigga  
> 

_With Darcy around, there's only one way to manage **that**_ , Jane thought, and went looking for a spoon.


End file.
